Walls
by Quicksilver Ink
Summary: Three years a knight, Percival Fraulein meets his younger self in the halls of Zexen's military academy.


A group of five or so rumpled-looking cadets rounded the corner as Percival made his way down the plaster-walled hall of the academy. Something about their bearing - a smugness contrary to the darkening bruise around one youth's eye, and the limp of another - made him quicken his pace. If they'd earned those facing the training master, they wouldn't be nearly so self-satisfied, and it was late in the day for that anyway. The knight said nothing to them as he passed by, frowning grimly straight ahead. Around the corner was the corridor leading to the training grounds, and off that, a dead-end passage that he knew all too well.

His suspicion was confirmed as soon as he reached that darker passageway. Another cadet - the same age as the others, judging by his size - was making his staggering way out, leaning heavily against the wall. One reddened hand was clamped to his nose, and the front of his padded jacket was splashed liberally with blood.

Percival felt a pang of sympathy as the boy looked up at him with suspicious eyes. Change the pale hair for dark, and that cadet might as well have been him, four years ago. As a commoner who had dared enter training to be a knight, he'd had to endure certain ordeals beyond the ordinary hazing. Percival didn't know what this boy's crime had been to earn him such an assault. Was he too fast a learner? Too slow, rich, poor, short, pious, or sarcastic? It didn't matter - any difference could be damning.

"I have a handkerchief, if you'd like something to hold against the bleeding," Percival offered, keeping his voice neutral. The boy would likely be too proud to accept sympathy. Sadie knew he'd been.

After a moment of searching the knight's expression, probably for any sign of mockery or contempt, the youth nodded. He clamped the white square to his nose and leaned his head back, then continued lurching along the wall.

Percival shook his head at the boy's stubborn independence, although he hadn't really expected him to ask for help. "Hold on. We can't have you painting the walls with that nose of yours." He pushed his way between the youth and the wall and pulled the boy's free arm over his shoulders. The boy tried to pull away, swaying precariously, but Percival didn't let go. Defeated, the youth let the knight support his weight. They trudged forward together, Percival keeping the pace slow and deliberate. "I'll walk you to the infirmary."

"I wab jud doing edtra training. I'b fine," the boy growled through handkerchief and pinched nose.

Percival said nothing, bearing the youth's weight as the boy's knee buckled suddenly.

"I ab," the boy insisted stubbornly after regaining his footing. His voice rose in pitch, and Percival wondered if perhaps he was younger than he'd first thought.

They made their way from the passageway to the main hall. Eventually, the boy stopped trying to pull them along faster than he could really manage.

"The usual excuse is 'I fell down the stairs,'" Percival remarked at length.

"Dere aren't any bairs here."

"Well, stairs can be vicious beasts," Percival replied with exaggerated thoughtfulness as they rounded the corner."They tend to gang up on you when no one else is around to see or hear. They like evenings best, when everyone's in the mess hall or gone home." He grinned disarmingly at the boy, whose eyes frowned back over the handkerchief. Then he turned his expression serious. "I'd avoid being alone at that end of the building when there's no one there to hear anything."

The boy muttered his reply. It could've been either sullen thanks or an oath, as far as Percival could tell. In his own days as a cadet it had generally been the latter. He grinned again. Ungrateful scamp.

They reached the infirmary. It was empty except for a lone nurse, rolling bandages.

"Honestly, what were you up to?" the woman demanded with exasperation, setting down the strips of linen and pulling out a stool. "I suppose it was extra training this time as well? Even I know the training master wouldn't leave you in this state, he's got more control than that. Thank you, Sir Percival, for bringing this obstinate chit to me," she added as the knight helped the boy onto the stool.

Percival bowed. "Pleased to be of service."

The nurse peered and prodded and pronounced the boy's nose "Unbroken. Hopefully." The bleeding had stopped, and Percival's handkerchief was tossed in the trash without a word. Percival repressed a sigh; Kalekka cotton was expensive, and for all that he had a noble's name and title now, he didn't have one's funds.

He leaned back against the doorframe and watched the nurse minister the youth. The boy's back was to him, but Percival saw his shoulders tense every time the nurse daubed at his nose, and then again as she peeled off the canvas jacket none too gently and checked for broken ribs.

"I'm fine," the youth protested, sounding much more ordinary, and younger still, now that he was no longer holding his nose."Just bruised a bit. Let me go home, Rosemary."

"That's Sister Rosemary to you," the nurse retorted. "Who was it this time? And how many? You're the first to show up, but I imagine they'll be in here tomorrow, with their own assortment of silly excuses."

"Five or six," Percival told her from the doorway when the youth remained silent. Rosemary looked up at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. "I saw them in the corridor. They probably won't be coming in - the worst I saw was a black eye."

Nurse Rosemary sighed. "Five? And here I thought you'd finally learned some sense."

"I thought it would be just Alders. And Sesson. It didn't occur to me the others would join them."He winced as Rosemary began splinting one of his fingers. "And I thought the padding in the jacket would be enough."

"You thought it would just be... you mean you _let_ them jump you?" Percival shook his head. "Are all cadets these days insane, or just you? Even I knew better than that."

"They were going to do it anyway," the youth replied stiffly. "So I chose the time and place. I miscalculated, is all. I could've handled it if it had only been the two of them."

"You were lucky they were content to simply beat you. They're getting old enough that something else might have occurred to them," the nurse said sternly, wrapping a swollen ankle in bandages. "Keep this elevated tonight, and soak it in cold water tomorrow."

The boy smiled grimly. "Don't think I'm not appreciative of that. But..." he closed his eyes briefly, and a mocking smile flickered across his face. "Dishonoring Lord Wyatt's daughter, deceased he may be, seems a singularly bad move for someone wanting to be a knight." He turned to smile crookedly at Percival. "That doesn't stop them from doing this," he tapped his swollen nose and winced, "sort of thing to me, but there are lines that can't be crossed with any noble's daughter."

Percival blinked. "Lord Wyatt's daughter?" He could see now that the face behind the puffy nose was delicate for a boy's, and the hair was the same nearly-grey blond that he'd seen on a twelve-year-old girl trainee several years ago. "You're... Chris, wasn't it?" He wasn't quite sure what to think.

The cadet nodded, winced and Rosemary clucked her tongue. "Well, I've done what I can with you. I hope you aren't silly enough to think this merits use of a rune. It's better to leave the rest to nature, anyway."

Chris Lightfellow rolled her eyes. "As if I want to build up a tolerance against runic healing any sooner than I already will."

"That's enough sass from you. Sir Percival, if you would be so good as to make certain she goes straight to her dormitory, instead of picking a fight in some other hallway?"

"Certainly, Rosemary." He bowed. "At your service."

She frowned at him. "It's still Sister Rosemary to you."

"Then it's Sir Percival _Fraulein_, actually, Sister Rosemary," he corrected her, putting on one of his most charming smiles. The omission of last name didn't usually bother him, but it did under the regard of a noble with such a prominent lineage. Even one as worse-for-wear as Chris Lightfellow. "After the last campaign, the captain informed me that he'd be damned if a knight with a record like mine had such a short name."

"Fraulein? That's what the boys used to call you." Rosemary frowned. "Doesn't that mean..."

Percival laughed. "Yes, it does. But I didn't care for Galahad's suggestions, and at least I was used to answering to it."

"You mean, it seemed a good joke." She shook her head, but she was smiling. "Good evening, Sir Fraulein, Lightfellow."

The infirmary door closed behind them softly, a token of the sister's lightened mood, and the two made their way towards the dormitory. Percival let Chris walk on her own. She probably could have benefited from a human crutch, and every so often she'd stagger against the wall, but Percival was hesitant to manhandle her the way he had before. It was one thing to help a cadet, but he definitely didn't want his intentions misread now that he knew who she was.

Wyatt's daughter. He couldn't see much reason for the others to pick on her, knowing that - in his experience, it had been the sons of heroes and high-ranking officers who bullied others. That didn't quite seem to be the case here, but his sympathy was evaporating quickly for this noble's daughter. And he couldn't decide if her stubbornness was irritating or likeable.

"You didn't have to help me. I could have managed on my own," Chris said, when Percival stopped for the fourth time for her to catch up.

Percival raised an eyebrow.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Chris added hastily. "And I'm sorry you've wasted your time like this. But just because I'm the late captain's daughter doesn't mean I need to be coddled. I can-"

"I didn't know who you were when I helped you," he said shortly, falling into step beside her now that she'd caught up to him again. He looked straight ahead. "I didn't even realize you were a girl."

"Oh." Her uneven footfalls were punctuated by the rasp of her coat against stone, which stopped as she stepped away from the wall. "So you weren't just being chivalrous."

"Chivalry means helping out anyone who needs it, not just lord's daughters." That came out more bitterly than he had intended. He took a moment to readjust his expression. "And knights aren't supposed to use their rank and skill to bully others." He glanced sideways to check her reaction. She didn't look away or scowl or roll her eyes, but simply nodded. Somewhat reassured, he continued. "You're not the first cadet to be set on by your peers. You won't be the last. It's something that will always happen. I wasn't there to stop it this time, but I was there to help pick up the pieces..." He shrugged. "You probably think it's foolish. Dismiss it as useless as a single rock against the tide, I don't care. I did it because I could."

"A single rock..." She stopped. The hallway formed a T where they stood; to his right, Percival could hear voices and movement muffled by a large wooden door. "This is it."

The hallway was wide, and Chris's steps wobbly. Percival offered her his arm to help her cross. Not as he would a lady at a ball, but an injured comrade on the field.

The girl hesitated, then took it. They crossed the hall slowly.

"When I was growing up, I was always told the knighthood is like the seawall north of the harbor. Stones set together in an orderly fashion, a well-organized army. A knight can't do much, standing alone." Chris put one hand on the door, then turned to smile crookedly at him. "But that doesn't mean it's meaningless. Thank you, Sir Percival Fraulein."

Percival returned the smile. "You're welcome. And... just Sir Percival is enough."

* * *

Author's Note: Percival's last name, "Fräulein," means "young lady" or "Miss" in German. Only the nobles have last names in the Suikoden world; we know Percival was given his sometime after he joined the knighthood. For the military to give a man a name meaning "young lady" seemed a bit strange to me, if not insulting. Then again, poor Borus is a Redrum. 

Many thanks to Justin the beta-moogle for very thorough beta-reading on several drafts.


End file.
